


Mad-Slashes

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [5]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bruises, Espionage, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, Makeup Sex, Masturbation, Rough Oral Sex, Verbal Fighting, Voyeurism, Witty Banter, relationship troubles, that lead to sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: MmmmmmmMMMMM just imagine make-up sex with Wrench. Like it's rough because there's still a little anger left from the fight and he's holding onto you so tightly it leaves behind marks and mmmmhmmm it ends nice and sweet because dammit he loves you and wants to make sure you still know it. (clears throat) excuse my thirsting over here.A/N: Not sure how well I managed this one. But hope you like anyway, Anon! <3





	Mad-Slashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



“I’ll take it, but I won't need it,” you say with honest nonchalance, having decided long before offering your help that you weren't going to go in guns blazing like Marcus or Wrench - as if you were even capable of something like that. Destruction was not one of your talents and the best plan of action - everyone decided - revolved around your wallflower look instead of mayhem. 

Looking inconspicuous was right up your alley. Compared to everyone else but Josh, you were pretty vanilla on the outside. Slipping in undetected sounded simple enough. Uploading the code was gonna be a cakewalk and getting to play dress up was just an added bonus.

“Look, it’s just so you get to feel all Bond Honeypot and shit. Trust me, you got this, girl.”

When Marcus pulls out the stun gun, it’s obvious you should feel apprehension but all you feel is excitement at the prospect. Sitara is less thrilled, pulling a face, obviously not thrilled at the implication behind Marcus double checking the 3D printed nonlethal for the third time, but as you sit there in your seat with wide eyes, you can't help but think his knowledge of weaponry is kind of cool. It’s because of everyone’s confidence, including Marcus’ surety with the logistics, that doing something so outside your norm isn’t balls-to-the-wall terrifying. If something went wrong, they’ve got a plan B and C in the works.

With pursed lips, Sitara leans over the desk, her nose a few inches from Marcus' face, looking like a fucking Amazonian on a mission. With an edge of threat, she breathes against Marcus and the stun gun, “I guess it's the same principle as a condom, better have it and not need it-”

“-than need it and not have it,” you finish, nodding. Though, the sentiment is a bit stale considering you and Wrench have forgotten condoms about as many times as you've remembered. A little warm stain tickles your cheeks, and with a cocksure smile, you rub at the blush, focusing on the easy motions of Marcus’ fingers.

Sitara throws you a serious look underneath the edge of purple threads - a look that says now is not the time to make light of the situation. Sure, they’ll have you covered as best they can, but you're still heading into a nasty spot. 

Smiling low, you deflate, feeling the first batch of nerves start to tickle your belly. “I get it, say no more. This isn't like watching Marcus on the feeds, but really… this’ll be a cakewalk.”

Marcus grunts in agreement, “Ain't complicated. You got this, girl.” He finishes maintenance on the gun with a slotted click and satisfying sound of metal on hard polymer, making your limbs prickle into goosebumps.

There’s no time to test fire it, but Marcus promised to give you the ‘low-down’ in case the worst should happen. It wasn’t a gun, but it fired about the same and you’ve never so much as shot a nerf gun before. As you said, you didn't plan on doing anything brash… just assume the position, slip away during an allotted break and follow the supplied directions to the backup servers. As long as Marcus hacks the cameras - making sure you don’t bump into anyone too high-level - everything will go smoothly. Besides, they’ll all be watching your back from here, and no one would think to leave you hanging if something should go awry. DedSec never left a member behind.

The atmosphere was returning to chill-mode just as the door above the stairs breezes open on the tail end of one of Marcus’ booty songs. Wrench, in all his chaotic glory - knees half buckling lazily - hits the landing. It's obvious, almost immediately, when his attention dials in on the stun gun rolling around in Marcus’ palms. LED underscores flip to questions marks as he starts making his way to the conference table. Every edge of Wrench’s posture and taunt gait seems riddled with agitation, making your smile falter. Not good, you think; eying the twitch of his fingers like a timebomb.

“Hey,” Wrench half-barks, nodding to the nonlethal in Marcus’ hands, “what’s going on, man?”

“Just getting our girl here prepped for her big night.”

Wrench stands rigid beside Marcus, mask reading underscores that seem angrier than they do thoughtful. Could be you're catching that sort of vibe based off the way his fists ball up at his thighs, though, or the taut line of his stomach under his hoodie. 

You look from Wrench to Marcus with a new type of nervousness growing. Wrench was overdue for an outburst and it only bothers you now that he needs an outlet for his inner turmoil or else everyone else has to suffer his edginess. No now, you think. You need him to be in your ear cracking dirty jokes and ogling you in the dress Sitara brought over.

In a thin, static-laced voice, Wrench says, “Yo, you never said anything about guns - why does she need a fucking gun?!” That crackle in his voice modulator sounds like the beginnings of rage. Mad-slashes pop up on his feed, and that cord in his neck that expresses both tension and anger stands out against the anarchy symbol. Thick veins bulge over his knuckles, and you hold your breathe as Wrench kicks his feets out shoulder-width apart; ready for a fight.

Fuck. Not now...

“Dude,” Marcus spares you a confounded look before supplying Wrench with his palms and a reassuring smile, “chill… it’s just in case she-”

“Incase she what?! Gets shot at? - man, Marcus, you didn’t say anything about giving her a gun. She’s not-”

“Wrench,” you blurt out, cutting him off with what you hope is a comforting smile, “it’s just a stun gun.” His adam’s apple bobs and you let loose an anxious laugh, hoping to dispel some of the sudden tension. Sitara throws you a thin frown before glaring over at Wrench. 

“You,” Wrench points at you from across the table as if you're some rambunctious dog off its leash, “you are not going anywhere.” His robotic voice breaks, addressing the rest of the room, “She’s not going anywhere.”

As he turns to a slack-jawed Marcus, Wrench’s tone goes low and half-begging, “Marcus, I got this. Just download the floor plans to my phone. I’ve got four bottles of nerve gas and five sticks of dynamite. LowRes can feed me the crypto-shit from her laptop and we can blow this cumstain’s servers to pieces.” Wrench gestures to his workbench as if he’s got high explosives nestled amidst the empty liquor bottles… which, on second thought, isn’t outside the realm of possibilities.

Sitara finally butts in, slapping her palm on the desk with a green-painted expression, “Wrench, stop. We've already got a plan, and the plan works.”

Pointing back at you, knuckles bulging with those veins, loud enough to freak you out, Wrench shouts, “NOT WITH HER IT DOESN’T!”

Headquarters falls silent. There, in your chair, with the folded black dress in your lap and a flustered red stain on your cheeks, you part your lips, but nothing comes out. You’ve seen Wrench in about as many shades as possible: shy, confident… outlandish, irate and loving, along with everything in between, but this feels out of place. Wrench getting angry isn't a rare thing, isn't even uncommon, but this is… it’s different, and you don't fucking like it. Not. One. Bit. 

From around the corner, Josh shuffles in, standing half hunched with a blank look, “Someone needs to get in and out without being detected. If Jackofski knows we’ve been inside, he’ll send his information to the Russians and the rest of the plan won't work. We’ll need to think of something else.”

Double zeros brighten Wrench’s display. 

“Good!” He clamors, throwing double finger guns at Josh who sways on his feet nervously, “We think of something else - what Josh said. W-we can upload a Trojan or something - something that he can force feed the Russians after I set fire to their dildo stash or I could blow up-”

“I’M GOING!” You speak up; high enough that it seems to startle everyone except Sitara, who allows herself a tiny, very private smirk of pleasure at your outburst. 

Wrench’s display narrows into underscores before glaring mad-slashes at you. Before he can get a word in you stand up; chair skidding across the painted concrete floors, “No! Not another word - I’ve spent all fucking morning going over this with Marcus.”

You lift a finger, “Sitara’s got me a contact,” another finger, “Josh has the codes, and,” you shake the little black number in your hand - the short satin dress with the thin straps - as your cheeks turn a bright cherry red, “I even have the dumb fucking outfit! So, it’s settled.”

 

Wrench’s chest rises and falls. You can hear him over the Marcus’ music as he starts to pant; glaring in emotes so bright it’s almost blinding. To cap it all off you throw an equally animated look of annoyance at him and lower your tone, “And, by the way... this whole undermining me bullshit you’re pulling? - is not going to work. If you want to boss someone around there’s plenty of pussy fodder in Frisco that likes that shit.”

Wrench only looks surprised for a second, those exclamation marks switching back to mad-slashes again. His tone is so macho-douchebag, it’s almost comical when he tells you, with a finger stabbing the tabletop, “You. Are. Not. Going.”

It doesn't escape your notice that everyone starts edging back while you and Wrench begin to gravitate towards each other - your mutual stubbornness attracting you to the other in the worst way possible. Once you’re right up in Wrench's studded face, you square your shoulders and tell him, “I am - and you need to chill. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Oh, yeah!?” Wrench stutters like a cracked terminal, arrows turning to and fro before aiming mad-slashes back at you, “Well… what if - what if you get shot?! What then, huh?!”

“Dude, you had no problem with it that night on the docks, or last month with the fucking Tezca’s or how many other times have you dragged me through literal life or death situations?! Fuck, you even set off that car bomb and shrapnel came this close to my face!”

“That was different!” he near screams; static crackling.

“How?!” You yell back, hating yourself for raising your voice like this, but Wrench has never pissed you off so badly, not even during the early days of your initiation when he seemed to get off on pushing your buttons. His insistence doesn't even make sense, which is what started the fire, but it’s the dismissive tone he’s using that stokes the flames into an uproar. This out-of-left-field concern of his is total bullshit. 

“Because-because… fuck, god fucking dammit! Fine - go!” 

His shoulders flatten, looking down at the dress in your hand with sad-slashes for only a second before the mad-slashes are back and he's turning around to kick one of the metal chairs across the room like a child throwing a tantrum. His outburst sends a bolt of morbid fear down your chest; both justified rage and guilt all in one.

Wrench roars on a wave of electric thunder and kicks a bunch of empty spray paint cans, throwing his hands up in the air. “You and everyone else seem to think it’s such a great fucking plan, so fine! Do whatever you want!” 

He ends the argument like that, making sure to flip a heavy trolley of mixed metal to the floor with another obnoxious roar of rage, cursing all the while.

“Yea, well… I plan on it,” you spit under your breath; arms crossed as Wrench leaves up the stairs from whence he came. Fuck him, you think, ignoring the looks speared your way as Wrench makes sure to cause as much chaos and noise on his way out as possible. Above your head the muffled sounds of shouting and something heavy falling over signals his reign of chaos… 

“Asshole,” you curse.

Very rarely - on the rarest and most self-destructive of occasions, do you ever do things out of spite. This isn't technically one of those times since everything was ninety-nine percent agreed on before Wrench decided to inject his enthusiasm into the mix, but a good portion of your insistence after his disappearance has been because you wanted to prove a point that didn't really need proving. 

The extra time you spend in the shower, exfoliating and shaving every scant inch of flesh as if you’re preparing for a hot date and not some espionage mission, is meant to demonstrate something - something petty you're certain. The lip-curling brow tweezing and other ‘pamperings’ you give yourself is as much a distraction from the anger still itching at your skin as it is meant to attract the wrong attention. The makeup you let Sitara apply isn't fun like you’d thought it would be. Instead, you decide you’ll use the cat eyes and red lipstick to be someone else for awhile and yet you still can’t stop reliving your fight with Wrench over and over, wondering if you’d made it worse by shouting or… if you just weren’t perceptive enough to see what really bothered him. 

Forgetting you're supposed to stay still, you turn an eye to your phone, noting the late hour and still, there's no tentative apology or inappropriate joke text from Wrench. Sitara presses your chin to the side again, huffing as you stare expectantly at your phone, probably looking pathetic.

It’s your first fight, you think stupidly. Every relationship has one at some point… and it’s never pleasant. Something about this is making you feel equal parts concerned and annoyed, though. You’ve had a few relationships and your fair share of arguments, but right now you’re sitting there with your heart in your throat wondering where Wrench is… if he went out and found himself a heater that actually did like getting bossed around. The thought makes you sick, even though Wrench would never do something like that, even if he wasn’t worthless around women… it wasn’t something he’d do. He wasn’t like that.

Wrench is an adrenaline junkie - he was probably stuffing potatoes in corrupt dickhead’s tailpipes, batting ctOS cameras to the tune of Karma Chameleon or something that involved gasoline and matches. He liked near-dying as much as he did anything else and bringing you along for the ride never worried him before. 

You wince as Sitara pinches your chin, turning you away from your phone for the hundredth time so she can finish contouring the swell of your cheekbones. Soon you’ll look like a high-class porn receptionist, dressed to impress in a den of perversion - a thing you were sort of looking forward to. Right now, as Sitara caps the top on her makeup case, giving you a critical eye, you're not sure anymore. 

“Ya know,” she starts; smokey voice reassuring if not a bit amused, “sometimes I forget there’s a dumb guy behind that mask, but if you were my girlfriend," her lips curl, "I guess I’d be worried too.”

“I literally couldn't be any safer,” you deflect the flattery; lips feeling uncomfortably stiff as you speak. Too much lipstick, you think with a frown. Typically, a compliment from Sitara would flatter you, but you're consumed by too many conflicting thoughts to enjoy it. 

Sitara laughs, smirking, “Duh, I don't mean that. Dude, take a step back and look at yourself. Wrench is just thinking with his ego - getting all worked up about 'his girl' going undercover in a shithouse called BDSMania. I'd probably be all butt hurt too if I was him, still… that was some dumb shit he pulled earlier.”

“... that… ya know, I didn’t think about that - you might be onto something,” you say, thinking back to all the times you’ve hung out with Wrench outside the hackerspace; all the social situations where more of his outlandish personality showed. He's expressed concern for your well-being before, in his own way, but the only times you've seen him pissed over you is when other guys have shown interest. Even that first time outrunning the cops, the only time he’d let his anger get the best of him was when those guys on the corner cat called you. 

More obscure situations, before that night on the boat, come flooding forward - of times when Wrench got pissy with rando’s… there was even that night at a party under the Frisco bridge where he broke some drunk dudes nose because of something said under the guy’s breath. It doesn't make you any less upset about the fight earlier, but it sheds a bit of light on his reasoning. Contrary to your previous perceptions of him, Wrench was a bit overly protective… and had a powerful jealous streak you totally missed until now. It’s obvious, downright unavoidable, now that Sitara’s brought it to light.

You would never have guessed Wrench for the jealous type, but there are two sides to him… and though he's confident in about every other aspect, when it comes to relationships his devil-may-care attitude shrinks into something delicate, almost too real. 

This new bit of insight clears a couple things up but doesn't make you feel any better. 

“So, you think he's jealous?” You ask, rubbing your painted lips together as Sitara starts cleaning of her brushes.

“No shit,” Sitara grins, “good thing he’s still out having his pity party, ‘cause you make Nellie Schyier look like a week-old corpse. You think you can handle the attention?”

“My awkward social ticks should turn any interested party off,” you laugh, trying not to lick the lipstick away at it pulls the tender flesh, “or I can start talking about my middle school years playing Magic the Gathering. I've got enough nerd in here to make a viagra-riddled porn star go soft.”

Sitara smirks, “Sounds pretty anti-hot. Still, make sure you keep your ear piece in, we’ll be with you all the way.”

“This cock sucker is going down,” you grin maliciously, giving Sitara an abhorrent wink that makes you both chuckle. 

Tonight, even if Wrench is dealing with his own issues, you're gonna follow the plan and do your best to enjoy yourself. If anything, Wrench has himself to blame. Before he started rubbing off on you, you'd have never dared to do something like this - offering to help in this way wouldn't have even crossed your mind. It’s his own fault… and you tell yourself this over and over as Sitara drops you off a few blocks down from BDSMania on a pair of high heels and the shortest black dress you’ve ever worn. 

Thankfully the air is warm, slightly humid and devoid of humans.

Cherry Poppins (fucking porn names) greets you at the back door. She’s kind enough to not comment on the buckle of your knees as you try your best to walk up like the heels aren’t close to crippling you.

“I’m ‘not’ here for the afterparty,” you speak your code, smiling carefully as the mini-skirt wearing bombshell finishing her cigarette with a lip shade a few notches brighter than your own takes a slow drag of her cigarette, leaving a ring of red around the filter. It’s so overly sexual you swallow, and look away.

“Sitara said you were short, but stacked…” Her smoky eyes, webbed in fake lashes, skims you over once and then twice before grinning, “Mmm, you’re not that short.” 

“Uhh, yes, I mean... thank you? Sorry, I’ll grow a spine once I get in there… right now I’m still running on hacker nerd,” the words come out all jumbled. Cherry nods, as if understanding, but her eyes stay glued to your tits until you start wondering if the push-up bra was overkill. Apparently, according to Sitara, you had the perfects breasts for it, but instead of having fun dressing up you were starting to realize everything just made you feel uncomfortable - the bra was tight and the heels sucked major dick, also… the stun gun was bumping close to the crotch of your seamless underwear and the little ‘feel-good-sensations’ it was starting to cause were worrying.

Cherry flicks her smoke into a pile of cold stubs beside the trash cans, curling her finger in a sultry come-hither gesture that makes you blush just a tiny, little bitty bit. This is outside your norm - so fucking outside it that this place might as well be another planet, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t thrilling. Not for the first time, you wish Wrench hadn't been such an asshat - you can only imagine his stellar commentary as you follow Cherry into the back room of BDSMania while hard polymer teases your cunt. 

In your ear, Sitara reminds you to relax and listen. “Alright, we’ve got you on the cameras, everything’s going to be fine.”

Cool as a cucumber, you think, letting the smell of Astroglide and scented candles hit you square in the fucking face. The whole interior is decked in slate painted walls and red drapery, cut with bright green plants mixed into an Asian/Indian fusion of leather and wax. If it wasn't for the backstory on this Alejandro Jackofski, supplied via Sitara’s vague story, you might have liked the style he had going on. Yeah, it screamed bondage kink, but there was something slick about it too. 

It feels like a different world. Because it practically is, you think. The porn industry is rife with weirdness. People playing by a different set of social norms and cues. 

A guy in a leather mask, cock covered with a thin strip of red satin, holding a bullwhip, walks by, and you bite your tongue to stop a weird noise from coming up your throat. Wrench comes to mind… of those pictures from Swelter Skelter and without preamble, you miss him sickeningly. Why’d it have to be now that you two finally got around to a pointless argument? In a place like this, you could have really used his witticisms and lackadaisical charm.

“Alright,” Cherry gestures to the front desk, where an equally attractive woman stands silently, watching you with a blank expression. Her purple outlined eyes, dusted with golden eyeshadow, skim you from head to toe, hovering over your cleavage twice as long as the rest of you. Nameless lady huffs softly and crosses her arms.

“Hope is gonna be your mentor today. She’ll show you the ropes - keep away the riff raff. Just listen to what she tells you to do, and none of the talents should harass you, ‘least not much anyway. Actually, watch out from Tony Stallion - Hope, make sure you keep an eye out for him tonight. That new director canceled his part this evening, so he’s…” Cherry gestures to her groin, miming a jerk off motion with an amused smirk.

Hope rolls her eyes, waving you over, “Ugh. Whatever, look, New Girl-”

“Pinky Cucumber,” Cherry interjects, sucking in her cheeks to keep from laughing. 

In your ear piece Sitara laughs, Marcus makes a raw sound of glee and way in the back you can hear Josh asking ‘what’s so funny.' Pinky-fucking-Cucumber. You’re gonna get Sitara back for that one.

Hope scoffs, “Seriously, how- no, ya know what? I don’t wanna know. Just, come over here. I need a smoke break, and these phones are a pain in my fucking asshole.”

“Said your mom,” Cherry mutters, giving you a quick shove of the shoulder before she’s gone, leaving you in ‘The Den of Sin.’ 

You make your way around the counter with Hope grumbling; fingers twitching around a list of extensions and cell numbers. You keep an eye out for Jackofski’s number, but it looks like a list of talent and crew. The rundown on the phone system is easy, way less complicated than Hope thinks it is and there’s a cheat sheet laminated and… oddly sticky, that Hope hands you before she leaves, but not without giving your rear end a hearty pinch.

With a short groan, you clench, watching her smirk over her shoulder at you, before leaving out the way Cherry and you came. This is a porn studio, you remind yourself. People swing both ways and pinching your ass was a come on… not meant to be cute. Try as you might to be insulted, you’re oddly flattered even though Marcus makes a snide comment about double standards in your ear piece. 

“... can’t argue there,” you whisper, taking an awkward position behind the counter. Your left butt cheek burns and that gun pokes as you shift, making your teeth taste the stain of lipstick over your lower lip. Not good, you groan - not good. 

As you’re transferring calls, the ceiling above the reception station vibrates, throwing plaster dust down onto the marble floors. With a calming inhale, counting to eight on your exhale, you adjust the straps of your dress and angle your shoulders back until you feel a little less ‘short.' You tell yourself you don’t want to know what they’re doing upstairs.

It’s another five solid minutes of silent boredom before the ceiling knocks again and you watch with narrowed eyes as a trail of more plaster falls in a winding path across the open room. Elephants? - on set? The unbridled image that assails you is enough to make you bounce and shake your head.

“Oh, bad… real bad visual.”

Inside your ear, Sitara asks, “What do you see?”

“No, I just…” you whisper. The bumping in the ceiling ends, as if whoever had been stomping around turned a corner, leaving your vicinity, “... it’s nothing, just jumpy.” 

Three and a half hours in and you can add being verbally assaulted by a woman dressed as a space pirate to your list of awkward moments, along with being hit on by two men chained together by their throats and a slick looking business man with an obvious erection, who wouldn’t stop talking to you about the benefits of ring spun cotton panties.

Hope was kind enough to talk you out of that situation...

The overwhelming display of sexuality isn’t as shocking on its own as it is in the way everyone treats it like a no-big-deal. In a place where people fuck on camera for money, this shouldn’t surprise you, but while you’re not a prime example of purity, the stuff you’ve seen in a few hours has overloaded you… and given you a few seedy ideas of your own.

Are you freaked out or turned on? Both? Yeah, maybe a bit wet, but that’s a natural reaction and you try your best not to feel guilty about it. 

You watch as a tattooed man in a gimp mask walks across the lobby, and start to feel your eyes wander; mind gushing over bondage fantasies with Wrench. No. Nope - don’t even think about it, you tell yourself, shaking your head as a leak of moisture gushes out of you.

As a party of topless women waltzes into view, guiding a guy in full latex gear, you finally decide that looking at the sticky cheat sheet is a better waste of time as your insides clench and another leak of fluid slips along the damp fabric of your underwear. The stun gun doesn’t help. You’ve already had to ignore a panic attack after convincing yourself that the moisture will set the gun off, tazing your cunt until you pass the fuck out right here with the gang in your ear and their eyes on the camera feed.

Thankfully, it’s pretty quiet inside your ear, but it’s still a little awkward being this turned on with everyone watching through the cameras as you hover beside a bored looking Hope. The dark-haired sex bomb slumps in the only chair, shoving an elbow on the counter with a tired expression. Every now and then you’ll feel her eyes on your hips or chest, but after the first hour, it doesn’t bother you anymore.

“If you need a smoke, I won’t keep you waiting,” Hope muses during a moment of dead silence, pulling out her phone with a delicate sigh, “I’m not a break Nazi.”

Time to blow this popsicle stand, you think, plastering on a relieved smile that isn’t as fake as it seems.

“Yeah,” you breathe in relief, “that’d be great. I could use one after that one dude in the-”

“Zentai,” Hope corrects you before you have the chance to get it wrong, “I didn’t think they were filming that tonight but shows you what they tell me, doesn’t it?” There are years worth of passive aggressive candor in that one sentence that you use it as your cue to point a thumb towards the back door.

“So, just out this hallway and to the right?”

“Yeah, don’t you want a cigarette?” She asks, looking you up and down with an arched brow, “not sure where you’d hide a pack of smokes in that getup. Well, guess you could be hiding it up your snatch or something.”

And here come the red cheeks, you think, blushing as you nod, taking a well-meaning cigarette and box of matches from Hope as she grins like a fucking she-wolf. If you were into that, you decide that you’d be up for letting her show you a thing or two, but the thought of sex makes you think of Wrench, and once again you curse him for being a douche bag. Fucking anarchist… had to go and ditch you in a place where you both could have had some fun. In all honesty, you’d been looking forward to some dirty texts from him, sans the main line… maybe promises of what he wanted to do to you after you got back. The night before, you’d fallen asleep to a hundred different scenarios, and all of them are ruined now. 

Real fucking shame, you muse.

Instead of taking a right at the hallway you make a left, fingering the smoke at your hip as Marcus leads you upstairs and through an unmarked door onto a concrete set with the distinct sound of wet smacking flesh.

Fucking hell… now that your senses are coated in sex, you realize just how little you actually spent thinking about this. Out the corner of your eye, you note a woman strapped up to a fence post, getting anally fucked by a guy in a goat mask with a perfectly shaped butt that clenches with each hearty thrust.

No one spares you a single look, too busy filming the scene. You follow Marcus’ directions backstage and out past an opening to a storage room with everything from plaster giraffe statues to boxes of latex gloves. It’s like a treasure trove of the comically obscene. Wrench would have loved it…

Before heading through a door marked ‘staff only’ you pause to pilfer a pair of fuzzy handcuffs - for a memento, you tell yourself. Without any pockets, you stuff the purple trinket between your breasts, much to Sitara’s audible amusement. Josh may or may not have made some quiet comment in your ear, but it’s covered up by Ray and Marcus commenting on the deactivated tentacle robot in the corner.

The gun strapped to your inner thigh leaves mild abrasions and even more firm pressure up along your soaked folds and clit as you stumble your way through sets ranging from hardcore bondage to poorly acted fantasy porn. After another flight of stairs, you pass two dudes having a heated debate about how one of them hadn’t spanked the other correctly. Before they can go into any detail about the unintentional bruise one of them has, you make your way around them with a polite smile, even if neither of them spares you a single glance. Finally, the warm room with that familiar, comforting hum of electronics is enveloping you. The server room, with its soft reek of hot metal and static, cleanses your sinuses of bodily fluids and K.Y. jelly. Everything hits you like a chemical wash and, with a heavy sigh of pleasure, you nearly fall to your knees in thankful euphoria. 

This - this is your element. Sitara laughs over the feed while Ray ponders the smell of butt sex and barn hay. You decide that you don’t hate the old man, but the feeling you get as he continues his spiel is close enough.

“... shut the fuck up, Ray,” you whisper, closing the door behind you just as the ceiling bumps again. The drifts of dust that fall from above sets off internal alarm bells. You narrow your eyes at the shivering panels, feeling more than the gangs eyes on you. That prickle of vulnerable heat hits your skin, and as carefully as possible, you take a step to the right as another bang rattles the tiles.

“Marcus,” you mutter, kicking your leg out to the side - a hand hovering above your knee and your heart in your throat, “is someone following me on the fourth floor?”

“Uhhh, nope. Lookin’ good from here - Josh, we got anything weird I can’t see.”

“No, she’s good.”

In this place, a shaky ceiling could be any number of things. Holding your breath, you send a shutdown to the door with the press of your phone before taking in the backup servers and the… primary servers? Ha! You chuckle quietly at the sight before you.

“Oh my god, you guys. This asshole keeps both servers in the same fucking room,” you comment, laughing breathlessly as the warmth wafting off the databanks starts to make your skin pink and shiny. You’re about four feet away from the primary server when the ceiling booms; crackling in a mess of black spider veins. A cheap panel comes crashing down, and with a familiar robotic shout, Wrench falls like a black blur to the floor in front of you.

What. The. Actual. Fuck… Wrench?! 

“Wrench?!”

Everyone, including Horatio and Ray, starts blasting off in your ear drum, asking a million fucking questions at a mile a minute while Wrench wheezes and unfurls on the ground, legs and arms kicking out into starfish form with a groan. Wincing, you finger the ear bud out, slam it on a cooling unit and kick a piece of the ceiling out of the way before dropping to your knees beside the spiky mess on the floor. The stun gun jabs against the crotch of your underwear; harder than before, but adrenaline and shock are a bit too heavy in your veins for you to notice.

“Wrench, what the fuck - the fuck are you doing?” It’s hard to keep your voice down, but somehow you satisfy yourself with a long hiss as his display runs at symbols and double-nines. Hurriedly, you check his limbs, tug at his stomach and the length of his neck until he shakes himself into double x’s and pulls up to his elbows with a ragged groan. You’re mad - you are mad at him, but you’ve also been walking around with a gun bumping your cunt amidst nothing but sex all evening, and just touching Wrench makes you a little lightheaded.

Thankfully, he’s too dazed to notice how your touch lingers - how your fingers curl into the slack of his vest and tug him close with unconscious lust.

“Ooww… my squeedilyspooch,” Wrench groans, making your throat tickle, wanting to laugh so fucking bad it hurts to hold it in.

“This place is one bad fart away from collapsing. Shit, you’d think their duct work would hold an adult male… I’m broken.”

“Pretty sure you’ll live,” you muse, biting your tongue to stop the smile from ruining your mean glare.

“If you call this living.”

Without thinking you laugh, and then the situation digs in as Wrench coughs behind the mask, dispelling that second of forgotten annoyance. No, you’re still upset with him - no, you’re even more upset with him now. You hold your breath, ignore the eager pull in your lower belly and glare, “Don’t be cute. I’m mad at you and what the hell are you doing here?” 

LED question marks pander towards you as Wrench hums while his brain plays catch up, “Sightseeing?”

Sightseeing your ass… If there’s one good thing about tonight, it’s shown you what an awful liar Wrench truly is. The bumping makes sense, and everything clicks despite your shock. With fierce cat-eyes, you sock Wrench in the shoulder until he whines and you snarl, “That was you all evening! Banging around like a fucking creeper. So, you’ve been stalking me in the vents? What the actual fuck, man?”

“Not stalking! I was doing… stuff - backup! What were you gonna do if ‘Jackoff’ got a whiff of your little scheme, or one of those lugnuts started getting handsy, huh?” 

“You’re admitting this has nothing to do with the gun, then? Also, what were ‘you’ gonna do if they got handsy? - drop out of the ceiling like a spider monkey?”

You cross your arms, biting the tip of your tongue to hide the egotistical edge of your lips. The image of Wrench dropping out of the ceiling with his arms spread, screaming ‘witness’ before tackling some asshole is way more amusing than you need it to be right now. Wrench’s mask drops into running ellipses before switching to mad-slashes, apparently displeased by the smirk on your face.

“No, no, no this is all the gun. Fuckin’ Marcus should know better than too…” he trails off as you stare, holding firm while he digs himself in deeper.

With a static sigh, Wrench sits up with stooped shoulders, hovering a loose palm over your thigh before carefully resting his burning touch on your bare skin, “Alright, fine! This is like ninety percent about the gun and ten percent horseshit.”

His mask flips into sad-slashes as you continue to stare; unflinching even as your insides start pounding at the nearly innocent touch of his hand. Several inches northbound and he could be wetting his fingers up your dress.

“Fifty-fifty? Twenty five-Seventy five?” he tries. 

Mad-slashes come back when all you do is bite your tongue. Wrench rips his touch off your thigh and bows up, "Are you gonna shame me with silence until I say what you want to hear? - is that what this is turning into?!”

“Keep your voice down, fuck… are you really trying to pick another fight here?” You pause long enough to sigh, reaching forward to brush a dry stain of plaster dust off the fold of his hood, “This is the first cool thing I’ve ever done for DedSec, and you’re going to ruin this because of some stupid jealousy bullshit.”

In a voice that’s quiet and genuine - a total one-eighty to his violent clip a second ago - he tells you plainly, “You’ve been doing cool shit since Zero Day.”

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile softly as his display flips to double x’s. Wrench tips his mask downward, unsubtly checking you out in the black dress, which has since ridden up your thighs after making sure he hadn’t snap any bones on his way down. Stars glare at the dip of fabric between your breasts and with all the tact of a child, Wrench asks, “What’s with the fuzzy handcuffs?”

You note his LED question marks, the spread of his thighs and the loose gesture of his left hand before it lifts and lays back over your thigh; thumb dimpling the supple skin. Call it insane, but a sudden pang of ‘fuck me now’ hits you right between the legs. 

Saliva floods your mouth as Wrench ogles your getup with bright stars.

When Sitara had first shown you the dress, this, right here, was the reaction you wanted out of him. Wrench seemed to love you dressed up or down or in nothing - it didn’t matter, but the extra attention he shows you now is affecting you just like you thought it would.

Brushing your fingers along the center of his chest, over the DedSec print and further underneath the warmth of his vest flap, you whisper, “Pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy today, and bad boys don’t get to know about what I may or may not have stolen from the storage rooms...”

A long moment of silence fills the space between you both until his mask flashes hearts and you can’t stop the bubble of laughter that comes up. 

From past fights with other guys, there’s a part of you that wants to hold onto your anger a little bit longer, but why try to stay angry when Wrench has flushed the tension away with such a genuine gesture of affection? 

Those hearts are your kryptonite.

He’s still an asshole, you think, smirking but you know how he can make it up to you. Aside from causing havoc, and making your heart flutter, he’s gotten exceptionally good at making you say the worst shit in the midst of a passionate fuck. Right now, it’s all you can think about - all you want, so with a fistful of his hoodie and a small moan, you drag him in between your thighs and lay back on the server room floor.

Wrench’s mask draws into mad-slashes again, but this time they’re more mischievous than angry given the way his hips slot between your thighs, purposefully bumping the stun gun.

Laced in overdone seduction, Wrench rumbles, “I thought I was supposed to be a bad boy?”

“Not the time to be cute. Just shut up and fuck me,” you tell Wrench, shifting your hips down; legs spreading further, “you’ve already deprived me of your witty commentary, and I’ve seen some crazy shit tonight.”

Wrench looms down on an elbow, shoving a hand over your stomach with those long fingers pressing teasingly close to the hiked-up hem of black. Looking down at you with equal signs, he starts talking again, “Look, I’m sorry... you know, for everything. It uh, wasn’t fair of me to say all that shit and for one tiny, itty bitty second I let caveman logic cloud my reasoning.”

“Apologize later,” you get out, just before losing your patience. 

With a rare snarl, you shove him over until the studs on his back slap the floor. Wrench curls his stomach and lifts his shoulders off the ground as if he thinks he’s going to get up or something. Maybe you’re channeling a bit too much BDSM as you shove a palm down on his chest while your hips press and drag up the crotch of his jeans, but it satisfies a part of you that’s been craving Wrench all night. Once your underwear catches on his erection, he sucks in a hard rattling breath, flashing double question marks and exclamations.

The sweet ache that twangs up your stomach shuts down your brain, which you blame for Wrench being able to grab you hard around the waist and roll you back over. 

He mumbles a weak ‘sorry’ when your scalp bounces off the floor, but you barely feel it.

“Y-you have no idea the crazy shit I’ve seen tonight,” you gasp as Wrench’s fingers dig in deep, bruising the delicate skin under your ribs so he can yank you into his lap; rubbing his clothed erection right up along your cunt. Rough, almost brutal grinding floods your face with red and your gut with sharp bursts of pleasure.

His mask blazes mad-slashes like a comical demon, but the snarling grunts are anything but funny. It’s another side to him you’ve yet to see, and it’s exhilarating on top of all the other heavy stimulus.

“Thought I heard a murder when I was… oh, shit… fuck, shit,” Wrench groans, hips suddenly stalling. He squeezes you hard enough to hurt and exhales hard, “I think I’ve got a fetish for red lipstick or something… I nearly went all ‘Happy New Year’ on ya just now.”

Though his fingers are making the muscles in your sides ache and throb, you manage a short laugh, bumping your hips up just to see his mask flutter between hearts and mad-slashes. 

Wrench holds you all the tighter and huffs, “Dude, if you keep doing that, then you’re just asking for it.”

“Am I?” you tease, opening up your legs until the warm air cools the heated wet of your underwear. With your teeth in your lower lip, drawing his display towards your mouth, you bump and drag along the bulging denim.

Wrench’s mask dips. “You asked for it,” he says darkly.

You giggle as he starts unbuttoning his jeans, not thinking for a second he’d follow through with the threat. It’s hot instead of worrying when Wrench glares mad-slashes and shoves his zipper down, pressing fingers into the hem of his boxers so he can produce that fat cock of his. It juts to the side with a bead of precum flooding over the metal bit, looking painfully swollen. When he takes himself in hand and starts pulling his cock in tight, long strokes, you think nothing of it until he’s hunched over and shivering, squirting strings of cum over the crotch of your panties; mask blinking between a dozen different emotes in a matter of seconds.

For a second you're speechless… and then your brain reboots.

“Wrench!” you shout, biting your tongue in panic at the loud sound that vibrates the server room but Wrench just groans and shakes and gives his dick one final squeeze before popping the clasp on your thigh holster, shoving the stun gun across the floor with bright LEDs. You’re about to push him away, pick another fight while his cum stains your panties, but he tugs your hips up and works the dirty fabric off your hips like they’ll burn your skin if he leaves them on a moment longer. Brain backfiring, heart leaping and cunt pounding, you forget about your anger the second he thumbs the mask up over his chin and slips it up over his forehead. 

You blink, red-painted lips parting in shock as Wrench stares at you with deep-set blue eyes and pinched brows. Sensory fucking overload you think, trying to take in every feature like he’ll disappear any second. He’s perfect - so aesthetically pleasing that it shames you how much you like his face. 

“Wrench…” you say again, except this time it’s soft and barely a sound. 

His lips are parted, just like yours, still panting from his orgasm and looking like maybe he’s made a huge fucking mistake. Red blotches his cheeks and nose… overheated or embarrassed. It’s clear that the pink bellies that debilitating shyness you’ve heard of, the second he starts to shrink back, but you're quick. Instead of words, which would probably be all jumbled and wrong anyway, you rush in, gather up the slack of his vest and kiss him. 

He’s going to have red lips after this, but it doesn’t seem to cross his mind because he makes a relief of noise, slanting his lips to delve his tongues into your mouth.

Fuck, you think, there’s too much bombarding your brain. Wrench's exposed face has stained the backs of your eyelids; etched the shape of his eyes and nose and that pout of lips. It’s Wrench… it’s him without the mask and why would he choose now of all fucking times to do this?! You were on the cusp of asking what the mark above his left eye was for fuck's sake - too fried on everything to think clearly. 

Panic comes and goes, and with another desperate squeeze of his hands through your dress, you bite his lower lip and confess “... I really need you to make me come,” fingers crawling up his neck, “right now.”

Against your lips - keeping his face close enough you can barely make him out - Wrench stutters, “Hold on… shit, look... today, it wasn’t my finest moment, but I conjured up a ‘gesture of fealty’ while I was out bustin’ capitalist heads and you need to know how sorry I am for being a douche bag.”

Giving him another delicate kiss, you tell him honestly, “You don’t have to,” and then after another messy kiss, “... I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but I do. I want to… and it’s kinda something I jerk it to waaaay too much.”

His hesitant touch slides up your spine, threading fingers through your hair in a manner as desperate as it is gentle. Wrench makes you blush - makes those warm gooey feelings crop up again without warning. The lovey dovey stuff always hits you hard and fast when Wrench instigates it. Maybe because it conflicts with his life’s mission to leave behind rubble and debris wherever he goes.

Shyly, he hides his face into the crook of your neck. 

With a relaxed smile, the first real one since earlier today, you confess, “For what it’s worth, I’m sor-”

“No!” he growls, and then softer, “No… I was being a fuckstick.” 

As an afterthought, he chuckles hotly against your throat, “Probably, shouldn't have cum on you either.”

“While shocking, it was kind of sexy,” you admit, inhaling a hard breath as he shifts above you, supporting himself on an elbow while he works his shoulder back to wedge a flat palm past your mound, dipping two fingers into smooth - almost embarrassingly - slick flesh. He groans and slips them back out in a long, wet trail down your inner thigh.

He takes a handful of thigh and squeezes hard. In a hammy voice of butchered Shakespearian, Wrench whispers, “I, my sweet acorn, have wronged you. Allow me to set you over on that data server so that I may kneel down before you’re… whistling - something… I don’t know what the old-timey term for pussy is, but I beseech thee, my beautiful-brained-cohort, to let thou…” his voice drops “eat her out.”

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, struck dumb for a good few seconds before realizing what Wrench has just asked of you. Sometimes you don’t know whether to laugh or moan, but the sound that leaks out of your throat while he teeths your neck, is close enough a combo to make you blush.

“Wait… you- right here? What about the…” A sudden horrifying realization dawns on you. 

The cameras...

“Oh my fucking god. The fucking cameras?!”

“Oooo, fuck,” Wrench deadpans, pulling his face out of hiding to cast an adorably nervous look your way. Camera concerns take a backseat to the sight of him and like a soon to be dead deer in headlights, you’re momentarily struck dumb by the sight of him.

“Why do you have to be so cute?” You think it, but in truth, it comes out your mouth, much to Wrench’s disbelief; marked by a deeper stain of red on his cheeks and a twitching frown. 

“Sorry,” you stumble, “after tonight, my filter’s busted.”

With that browline and the dorky nose and those lips… even with whatever the blemish is, he’s hot. Fuck, your eyes drop down to the puff of his lower lip as it twitches in the corner, nearly smiling. His proclamation to ‘eat you out’ comes back at you like a shockwave. Your insides clench around his fingers as you whimper, curling up inside the heat of him.

“No one wants to see this chud unless they’re into some hardcore sadist shit,” Wrench tells you, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw, “guess that means you're a kinky little rascal after all.“

You smirk, shrug and cut your eyes to the purple handcuffs sticking out your cleavage.

“We are not done talking about those,“ Wrench reminds you, nearly grinning, but it quivers at a smirk and nothing more. “Seriously though, Ray might still be watching. That fucker won’t believe you like me,” his flaccid cock warms between your thighs teasingly, “ without visual proof.”

“Oh, yeah... fuck,” you can’t help but laugh as Wrench thrusts his worn out dick against you, maybe trying to send some blood back into it… or just to be Wrench, there’s no telling.

“... that would be super gross.” 

The idea of Ray using one of his algorithms to blow over the camera's contrast for a better picture is disgusting as much as it is amusing. He wouldn’t do it - he might be toeing the line of moral decency, but you don’t think any of the gang would betray you or Wrench by watching a private moment like this… even if Wrench hijacked the plan tonight. 

“Just send a kill signal to the camera,” Wrench nods to your phone on the floor, a foot away from your loose fist, “then you can accept my ‘slippery’ apology without worrying about Ray spanking his meat to you,” his thumb shifts, rolling your clit, “ despite how ‘utterly’ spankable you are.” 

It says something about you, that you’d rather just lay down on this floor all night and stroke the contours of his face, memorizing every dip and crease, so the weak monitor-stained image you’ve had of him until now is erased forever. Even though the promise of his tongue bringing you to orgasm and a light spanking sounds good, you can’t stop staring.

Wrench pinches your cheek, gives the other side a lusty kiss, and growls in your ear, “I promise to let you kiss Wrench Jr. Jr. later if that helps ease the ‘guilt’ of getting me on my knees.”

Fuckstick knew how to rev your engine. “... okay,” you breathe.

Fumbling for your phone, you hack into the feed where Marcus’ breadcrumb IP is and promptly lock him out. Sure, it’s easy enough for a guy like him to override it if he wanted, but if everyone's been watching you and Wrench on the feeds so far then they ought to know better than to dig their way back in. You’re still tackling the door lock on your phone when Wrench starts pulling you up to your feet, hands wrapped around your hip and elbow with all the unbridled energy of an atom bomb. He pants, grunting hard before hefting you up onto one of the servers - it’s warm hum touches your cunt, sending gentle currents through your stomach.

If it weren't for the promise of oral sex, you’d be disappointed when Wrench huffs, tucking his dick back behind a zipper and loose button clasp. 

It escapes both yours and Wrench’s notice, but the little ear piece remains balanced on the corner edge; forgotten as long, calloused fingers start edging the snug black hem of your dress over your thighs and under the curve of your ass. As Wrench hums, offkey and breathless, you thumb in the backup server connection and start uploading Josh’s code; tongue on your lower lip.

Can’t forget the real reason for being here, even with Wrench cursing under his breath as he pulls your legs open wide.

Head tilted down, bangs in his face, you watch the way his lips pinch as he spread you open with two fingers. He sounds like a rusty cooling fan as he comments, “This sure is dangerous, LowRes, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have some wet dreams about this.”

“Fuck, me too,” you admit. 

Without preamble, Wrench’s knees fold - denim smacking the tile floor - and smothers his bare face between your thighs. His hot tongue flattens over your cunt, and it's so much better than you ever imagined. As Wrench laps along wet folds, your eyes roll back in your skull and you fucking pray that everyone on the feed caught wind of this way before you pulled Wrench on top of you. 

His teeth graze, and his palms warm your knees. You glance down and catch his eye before blushing so profoundly it feels like someone's punched both your cheeks. Sensory fucking overload, you think with tears in the corner of your eyes, unable to look away from his as the pink, glistening peak of his tongue writhes around in the bundle of nerves. 

The way he…

“... oh, fuck.” 

His lips close around your clit, sucking noisily as Wrench leaves a knee cold to slip a digit into you. It goes in smooth; deep enough you can feel your stomach curl. It feels so fucking good it almost hurts. 

“Oh… god, fuuu’ck,” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a raw inhale as a particularly well-aimed swipe of his tongue makes your body jolt; hands reaching down to cradle his face. 

Wrench palms your knee, strokes up your thigh and goes back to gripping that sore spot around your waist that’s already starting to bruise as his other hand fucked another finger into you. He holds on tight enough that the next string of curses you let loose is just as much from the ache as it is from the bliss he creates.

Sometimes, when you fall asleep, you play out scenarios of how Wrench’s mouth would feel against you. It seemed like such a far-fetched thing to imagine, but now it's happening, and a part of you feels like you're coasting on a dream. His tongue forms a point, darting through silky folds of tender flesh to slide firmly inside you; rubbing tight nerves with a hot thrust.

You manage another weak ‘fuck’ as his lips part, engulfing every bit of throbbing skin within the heat of his mouth. Unable to help yourself, you lift a smooth thigh up, lay it on his studded shoulder and let out a high moan when Wrench does the same with your other leg. His hands trap you inside a bruising grip, yanking you half off the edge and further into his mouth; tongue delving so deep a weak tear slips over the slope of your cheekbone. 

Too much… too soft and warm and you're done for, the second you think looking down at the perspiring line of his forehead is a good idea. His nose bumps your clit, adds a deep stab of pleasure to the expanding heat and-fuck!

“Wrench, w-wrench… “ you gasp; thighs shaking and stomach bouncing and being the smart fucker he is, Wrench pulls his tongue out of your cunt and drags it up under your clit, swirling the swollen bud as sticky bliss swells and spreads inside your lower belly. Your orgasm is a slow crawl that seemingly never ends. Every soft circle of his tongue builds and builds until something pops and you jerk, twitch and cry out. His fingers dig under your ribs, forcing you close even as you yank back - the pleasure too much. 

“S-stop!” you beg, but Wrench just pulls his tongue back so he can replace those delicate licks with hungry sucks.

“Hey! … p-p-please, Wrench, stop.” There must not be enough conviction in your tone - or maybe you don’t sound serious about it because Wrench doesn’t stop. He works you into another over-the-top frenzy until the hard jolts ebb into that warm pleasure again and another slow buildup ends in another crushing orgasm.

Time creeps along inside a dark haze of heat and euphoria. Kinda like being high, you think blearily as the warm server bank soaks into the back of your dress.

“Holy shit, I didn’t think I’d be any good at that,” Wrench says between lazy kisses up your inner thigh, sounding as out of breath as if he’d been jackhammering you for an hour. His moist breath wafts overly tender flesh as he chuckles. 

“But! - when you're good, you're good.”

“Oh nooo… Wrench, that was the worst,” you whisper sarcastically; still useless as Wrench laughs. 

He gives your hip a love bite on his way up off the floor, releasing your sore waist with a chuckle that abruptly dies.

The silence feels weird enough that you blink away the darkness. Through misty eyes, you gaze up at the way his bleached bangs frame his narrowed eyes. The light shine of moisture on his lips, coupled with the stain of your lipstick, makes you blush again. The reaction on Wrench’s face is troubling but cute, hot… sexy and…

“Hey,” you ask, suddenly worried, “what's wrong?”

Wrench’s face falls flat; blue gaze watching the barely-there touch of his finger along your waist. There are bruises, and they’ll look even more pronounced in the morning, but a small price to pay for that epic oral you just received. 

With a reassuring smile, you reach a palm to his face, cupping his jaw and tell him truthfully, “It doesn't hurt, and… I'm tougher than I look, you don't gotta be gentle all the time. Plus, I liked it.”

“I know, you freak,” his voice is torn; throaty even as he tries to be funny. “Listen, all that shit I said today… I just…” 

Wrench grimaces, swallowing thickly before his eyes start dropping to the floor. No, you think wildly. None of that bullshit. You won't let him shrink away, not now and not if you can help it. All that comes to mind is the most innocent gesture of all: a hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, wincing at the dig of studs into your skin and squeeze him against you. 

A sound too vulnerable not to be a sob warms your neck as Wrench wraps you in a desperate hold. Nasally breath heats against your ear. Hands spread long fingers against your shoulders and with as much affection as you can express, you nuzzle Wrenches ear and remind him you love him. 

Like you already knew before, Wrench becomes someone else without the mask. The immature anarchist with a violent streak turns into the shy kid he must have been before - someone who wanted love but never got it. 

“I love you more…” he says fiercely; still hiding, but that's fine too. 

Honestly, there's enough to worry about outside this super warm and comfy server room, like how you're going to look anyone in the face again or what intel Josh got off the servers, rather than worry about Wrench hiding his face in the crook of your neck. 

You hope this moment tonight means you’ll see more of his bare face in the future, but for now, you’ll think of it as a rare treat and well… at least you know what to picture when you fall asleep at night. No more dark blurry stains of his face for you anymore. He sighs, pulls away from his safety spot against your pulse and give you a hooded look that may or may not bring back a bit of those ‘fuck me’ feelings.

You’re about to lean in and kiss him when Wrench flicks his fingers between your tits at the furry cuffs, ruining the lovey dovey moment with a long winded leer of noise, “Soooo… can I look forward to future shenanigans involving these bad boys?”

You smirk at the dangerous tilt of his lips. “Help me sneak out of here - because I’ve been gone way too long for a smoke break - and we’ll talk about the cuffs.”

“Deal,” he chirps, plucking your lips in a quick kiss before settling his mask back over his face. 

The first emotes you see after the feed connects are double hearts - double hearts and a flash of stars as he helps you off the servers. As an afterthought, he leans in and pinches your forgotten earpiece with question marks.

“Ugh…” he voices on a dumb current of static, “did you send a kill code to this little guy?”

Out of the ear bud, with enough amusement to make you fall into a black hole, Sitara’s voice muffles out of the small speaker, “Nope, but don’t worry LowRes… I sent everyone out for pizza and beers when you guys started talking dirty. I hope you don’t mind… but I didn’t want to leave you two without backup in case someone interrupted you for real.”

You let your head roll back as Wrench starts to hum and haw, both thankful and mortified that Sitara kept an ‘ear’ out despite what all she might have heard. Honestly, out of all of them, you’re glad it was her. At least Sitara can keep her mouth shut and has the decency not to tease you both about it.

Of course, in typical Wrench fashion, as you’re standing there trying to get the red out of your face, he puts a fist on his hip and whispers into the ear piece, “So, does that mean you’ve got audio recorded on file? If so, you wanna send me an encrypted email for lat- Ow!”

You pull your fist out of Wrench's shoulder, snatch back the earbud and grin, “You wanna hear me cum like that again, you’re gonna have to make it happen 'again.'”

A gross sound comes out of your ear piece as Sitara groans, but in truth, it’s hard to hear over Wrench rolling his ‘r’s’ so fetchingly.

Now to get the fuck out of this place and find a use for these handcuffs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! I love writing Wrench and LowRes XD 
> 
> So, sorry for hijacking requests for these two like I have been, but hopefully, everyone likes it as much as I do. If you have the time, please let me know what you think. Thanks again for reading! And thank you Anon for the ask.
> 
> Also, thank you DarthFucamus for your insights before I posted this bad boy. <3
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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